Sun, 13 Jan 2019 07:13:41 -0800WeeblyMon, 14 May 2012 22:22:23 GMThttp://www.hawknews.org/kailey-wilson-editor/big-day Two summers ago, I attended Steen’s Mountain Running camp in Eugene, Oregon. To begin with, this camp is located in the mountains. Campers stay in huge green canvas tents that hold about 20 people each. This camp is meant to challenge runners while allowing them to relax. Each day we would embark on some wild activity. On the third day of camp, we began what was known as “Big Day.” At 5:00 a.m. everyone arose from their tents, ate breakfast, and piled into the busses which drove us to the head of the trail that would start our incredible exploration. From here we hiked 12 miles down and through a canyon. At the end of this, there were buses awaiting any camper who did not wish to continue. From here, the remaining runners split into groups according to speed. Group one consisted of the fastest athletes, and group four, the slowest. We then proceeded to “60 60’s,” (run 60 seconds, walk 60 seconds) for eight miles, continuing through the canyon. If at any point you felt like you would not be able to maintain your group’s speed, you could drop. This meant that you would stop, pull off to the side of the trail, wait for the next group, and continue with them. When we finished the 60 60’s, a mile and a half long hike strait up out of the canyon awaited us. At this point, hiking at an angle was not to be desired. At the top of the canyon we were greeted with lemon heads before we began a seven mile run back to camp. At the end of the day, we had covered about 27 miles. This was by far the most taxing workout I had ever endured, yet it was a useful and exhilarating test to see how much the body can endure when pushed.

]]>Wed, 25 Apr 2012 01:05:13 GMThttp://www.hawknews.org/kailey-wilson-editor/a-sledding-experience-i-will-not-soon-forget I have gone sledding since I was a tot, but no sledding experience can compare to that which I had with Kristi, Tommie, and Sami Knutson. We had gone to Tommie’s house for a sleepover, and the following morning we decided to go sledding. The hill we chose was steep and lined with scrawny aspen trees. We hiked halfway up the hill (about 150 yards) and began taking turns departing with the sleds. Sami went first, by herself, and made it safely down the hill. Kristi, Tommie, and I went next in a giant black toboggan-like sled. As soon as we took off, we were automatically in tune to the fact that our ride would not end well. Our sled, ran at an uncontrollable speed straight for a tree. We were going to get hurt. But when it came time for impact, we somehow managed to miss the tree by a hair. At the bottom of the hill we sat, relieved that no one had gotten injured. Despite the trauma, Kristi and I somehow managed to work up the gumption to go one last time with the same black sled. This time we avoided the trees, but not the elusive jump at the bottom of the hill. Barreling towards the jump, we screamed knowing that what happened next could end poorly. We flew. More specifically, we flew vertically five feet and must have traveled 20 feet horizontally. Our landing ended in a crash, but no broken bones. Turning our heads, Kristi and I could clearly see Tommie and Sami at the top of the hill gasping, laughing, and squealing. Kristi and I, however, were shaken, but in awe of how far we had flown. This sledding experience was by far one of the most dangerous activities I have ever experienced, but it also proved to be one of the most exciting.

]]>Mon, 02 Apr 2012 03:21:36 GMThttp://www.hawknews.org/kailey-wilson-editor/running-and-learning-with-the-mountaineers Last year, I was left at a standstill. Where would I be going to college, and who would I be running for? Early on, I was contacted by Montana State University, a Division One school, and California State University Stanislaus, a Division two school. When I first began my search, I was open to anything, but by the middle of this year I had become aware of an important aspect that needed consideration. I realized that I was going to school to become a vet and not a professional athlete. Competition was not what I longed for. If I could use running as a vehicle to pay for college in a less competitive program, then I would be content. With this, I eliminated the Division one schools that I had been in contact with. This left Division two and NAIA, a collegiate division outside of the NCAA. Two offers, one in each of these categories, came about that I had to choose between. Luckily both offers were the same allowing me to look at the schools on their merit rather than their offers. Both schools are very academically sound, so I looked at running next. Adam’s State was ultimately more competition than I wanted. They have won 18 of the past 20 NCAA Division two Cross Country Championships. This decision led me to Eastern Oregon which I know is the right and best fit. This fall I will be running for the Mountaineers at a level I am comfortable with while getting the education that I need.

]]>Tue, 28 Feb 2012 14:39:22 GMThttp://www.hawknews.org/kailey-wilson-editor/painful-music About ten years ago, I used to take part in piano lessons. Once or twice a week, my mom, brother, and I would travel to Glennallen to meet with my piano teacher who possessed a shy, fluffy black cat. As a kid I was not very interested in piano, and I honestly don’t remember why I was taking it. Nevertheless, early on, my piano teacher warned me about getting to close to her cat. Unfortunately, I was curious, especially when it came to animals. I slowly approached the cat that was under the kitchen table on a chair at the moment. Mesmerized by the wide golden spheres staring straight at me, I moved closer. Two seconds later, I was stealthily running to the bathroom, hoping to hide there. I shut the door behind me and immediately rushed to the mirror. When I got to close to the cat, he threw his paw at me and, with claws outstretched, slit my eyelid right up the center. My mom, suspicious as to why I was so silent, found me in the bathroom and knew pretty much right away what had happened. I was then taken to Crossroads where I was strapped to a table with only my eye showing. The doctors numbed my eye with a small syringe, which proved to be very painful, and proceeded to give me the one and only stitch that I would ever receive. This experience is what I believe to be at the core of my irrational fear of needles, and maybe it’s why I haven’t taken an interest in music.

]]>Wed, 15 Feb 2012 15:29:53 GMThttp://www.hawknews.org/kailey-wilson-editor/hope-found-in-a-hopeless-horse The year 2007 brought with it many new experiences, yet the one that I look back and laugh at is the day that I first met my horse Maverick. At the time, Maverick was an eight year old Morab (Morgan Arabian) who had been gelded for about two months. In truth, he still had the same mentality as a fiery stallion. To be gelded at eight is late, and can lead to a pool of problems that are quite troublesome to control and/ or break. The previous day (before I met Maverick), I went riding with Maverick’s owner Diane Ellsworth. She announced that I would be riding Kiana, a large Percheron Arabian cross. Somehow Kiana had managed to get the spunk of an Arabian, and at the same time be incredibly lazy. She also had a horrendous attitude. I love riding, but she was far from a pleasure to ride. The following morning, I once again arrived at Diane’s house to go riding. This time she asked me if I wanted to ride the “big bay” or the “little bay (bay is a color pattern used to denote a brown horse with a black mane and tail).” Without hesitation, realizing that any horse would be better than Kiana, I replied “little bay.” Thus I was introduced to Maverick. Within the first 10 minutes of our ride, I deduced that calling this ride interesting was an understatement. The slightest odd noise or shape would send Maverick flying into a tizzy. He would veer away from whatever it was that was bothering him. To make matters even more exciting, upon cantering, Maverick would buck and rear with all his might, in an attempt to establish his dominance. These quirks however made him a much more interesting horse to ride, and each time he failed to throw me from his back, was one more step towards respect on his part. This new found bond would only progress from this ride. The following two years I spent disciplining Maverick, as well as gaining his trust and vice versa. Through hours of hard work, excitement, and dangerous situations, our bond became tighter and tighter. I remember one winter ride I went on with Sammie Ellsworth and Audrey Shepherd. In the summer time the gravel pit would collect rain water in one particular space near the center of the pit. This large puddle was about 20 feet long and 10 feet wide. In the winter it would freeze over and was unnoticeable, making it was easy for us to completely forget that it was there. As we rode along, the frozen puddle was the least of our worries. I was the first to cross, and in the midst of trotting, Maverick slipped on the ice to quickly for me to do anything. His feet came out from under him and he fell flat on his side. I fell with him. My legs were draped on either side of his barrel (abdomen), and my left leg should have been crushed considering that was the side he fell on. Instead, I felt nothing, and my left leg felt just as my right, intact and unharmed. Once he returned to his feet, I took a moment to contemplate what had just happened. My conclusion was this. In order for him to have completely avoided my leg, he would have to bend his body upward away from the leg in a cup shape motion. From this I deduced that he respected the fact that I was on his back and my well-being. Finally I had chipped the iceberg that was, and still is, Maverick’s hard skull. I had finally tapped into his mind, established a working relationship, and gained the trust that I so increasingly desired.

]]>Sat, 28 Jan 2012 21:59:48 GMThttp://www.hawknews.org/kailey-wilson-editor/hell-catch-you-with-his-bear-hands_ In the summer of 2010, just after school was released, the Highmark Youth Group left on a trip for Shoup’s Bay. We began in Valdez and hiked 14 miles to the campsite, which took roughly eight hours. At around four o’ clock, we arrived exhausted and sore. The remainder of the day was spent readying the cabins with sleeping bags, and other overnight gear, which would prove to be a necessity for the windy and rainy nights that would follow. We also built a campfire at which we would gather for instruction and Bible study. The following day we began the endeavor of crossing the bay to reach the glacier that resided on the other side. Because the boat we were using was so small, we had to ferry small groups of people across which took about three trips. Everyone made it to the glaciers successfully, but the second and third return trips were a different story. Unfortunately, the boat’s motor had begun to fail, which of course caused it to quit working. Thus, each group had to paddle back to the campsite, and each trip took about 45 minutes. By the time everyone was back on shore, we had spent nearly five hours paddling back and forth. Luckily, those who were already at the campsite began to build a fire for everyone to thaw out. Not long after, Caleb Helkenn found what looked to be decaying human hands at least that’s what he played them off as. With the entire group frightened that an actual murder took place, Pastor Len, who knew what was going on all along, announced that we would be returning to Valdez sooner than expected. I don’t recall exactly how the next few minutes played out, but eventually Caleb revealed to us that the hands we thought to be human actually belonged to a small bear, whose paw bone structure closely resembled that of a human. Both Pastor Len and Caleb took this time to explain what the difference between the two actually was.At the end of the day, everyone lay snug in their cabins, reassured that there was no elusive Shoup’s Bay killer, only an unlucky bear who became our entertainment on that cold rainy night. ]]>Sun, 15 Jan 2012 05:31:10 GMThttp://www.hawknews.org/kailey-wilson-editor/kindergarten-the-good-old-days_For some odd reason, my first year of school was the most memorable. For some reason its memories ring louder than those of even this year.Free-time especially is very vivid. Our Kindergarten and first grade class used to wait in anticipation for hours for Mrs. Hanson to allow us to let the idiosyncrasies in our minds travel wherever they wanted, in order to create the oddest games and scenarios. I specifically remember the giant colorful Leggos that could be found in the K-1 classroom. Instead of building castles and barricades, we found whatever string was available and tied them to our stomachs in order to portray dairy cows. “House” was often a popular game as well. Sami Knutson and Eli Morse were always mom and dad, with the rest of us playing either children or obnoxious pets. One other common activity was “interacting” with the small chickadees that would hover at the bird feeders just outside one of the classroom windows. Hoping that they would respond to these childish calls, we sang “chick-a-dee-dee-dee” to them for surprisingly lengthy periods of time. Little did we know, the windows separating us from these birds were too thick for our calls to be heard.Again, my elementary years were far more memorable than my time as high school student. Instead of giant textbooks and small spats, we had giant Leggos and ice crystals, and petty fights. ]]>Thu, 08 Dec 2011 20:38:47 GMThttp://www.hawknews.org/kailey-wilson-editor/the-toil-and-tribulations-of-cooking-breakfastKailey Wilson submitted a podcast for her blog. Join her as she takes you behind the scenes of a typical day in the kitchen when a few twelfth-graders and their parents prepare breakfast for the staff.

]]>Thu, 24 Nov 2011 18:27:57 GMThttp://www.hawknews.org/kailey-wilson-editor/wrangling-for-a-living__ Working in the barn was one of the most challenging of my experiences, yet it was one of the most fun and rewarding as well. I met so many great people, made so many fantastic memories, and learned so many valuable life lessons. I would definitely go back again if the opportunity presented itself, to brave the exhausting establishment known as Solid Rock Bible Camp. This past summer I had the privilege of working at the Rocking S Ranch at Solid Rock Bible Camp as an assistant wrangler. The first few weeks I was in Soldotna, however, I spent enduring the stress that came through staff training. Staff training is meant to prepare the summer staff for all of the situations that camp brings about. After staff training ends, the chaos begins, and two sides of the lake emerge. The two groups of people who work on either side are completely opposite of each other. Lakeside is where the main camp buildings are located. This is also where the sports camps as well as the general lakeside camps are held. In comparison to Wagon Train (which I will get to), lakeside feels like luxury. The campers and staff stay in heated rooms, and have full access to showers and actual bathrooms. And if you ask me, they get better food. The teens who work at lakeside also have certain personalities. These are the outgoing, loud, enthusiastic (and sometimes quite annoying) young individuals who work at Solid Rock. They are constantly playing games, music, or some other odd activity, which to any bystander would look out of the ordinary. Oddly enough, barn staff like me hesitated to often socialize with these folks. Then there is Wagon Train, which is a western inspired camp. Campers and staff on this end of the lake are not accustomed to the luxuries experienced at lakeside. Instead of warm heated rooms, campers stay in unheated covered wagons, and this of course adds to the experience. There are also no bathrooms nor showers, only an outhouse and a wheel equipped with sinks. Before I continue, I must add that the barn staff and the wagon train employees are different groups of people. Wagon train counselors are simply lakeside workers who were assigned to work at wagon train for the week. Barn staff members, spend the entire summer working specifically in and around the barn.Their personalities are also much different. Anyone in the barn can generally be classified as weird or socially awkward. They are the individuals who generally don’t do well in big groups of people. But like the lakeside crew, we fancy certain activities that would be odd to any non-barn related personnel. I specifically remember always trying to get the best of one another, whether it is by getting each other wet, or balancing on the hitching rail, or perfecting the art of spreading manure effectively. Working in the barn was one of the most challenging experiences, yet it was one of the most enjoyable and rewarding as well. I met so many great people, made so many fantastic memories, and learned so many valuable life lessons. I would definitely go back again if the opportunity presented itself, to brave the exhausting establishment known as Solid Rock Bible Camp. ]]>Thu, 27 Oct 2011 23:26:51 GMThttp://www.hawknews.org/kailey-wilson-editor/hiding-from-a-bear When I was about five or six years old, I was quite the adventuresome young lass. For entertainment, I busied myself eating questionable Alaskan wild berries as well as by mothering injured birds that would hit our house windows, only to be alarmed by the rate at which most of them died. Apart from these curiosities, I fancied the art of hiding. Growing up in a rural area, my dad had deemed it necessary to teach me how to veil myself when in the presence of dangerous bears. He began by stressing the fact that climbing trees is ineffective because bears, despite their corpulence, are actually quite the c limbers. Dad also repeatedly stated that you have to be silent. With this, he decided to let me hide as to test my skill in this area. My guess is he figured there were only so many places a five year old could think to hide. Within minutes, we began and I was given an allotted time to pick my place, 15 minutes I would say. As I raced around the yard, I bypassed the majority of the places I found labeling them too obvious. Instead I ran to the base of the lake trail where we had created a brush pile. To my surprise, there was a small cavity inside that I would fit perfectly in, so I chose to stop there. When my time ran out, dad began to search. Ten minutes passed by, then fifteen, and dad began to worry, calling out my name and yelling that it was time to stop. Nevertheless, I was told to be quiet when hiding from a bear so I kept my mouth shut. He began to panic, and after he had scoured our property, his thoughts went to the lake. By now he was expecting the worst, and after nothing turned up at the lake, he retreated to the yard once more and contemplated calling the police. I don’t recall why, but finally I decided to leave my place of hiding to be found. I was greeted by my dad who, in all honesty, was not pleased. He questioned why I didn’t come when called, and my answer of course was “you told me to be quiet.” To this day, I still remember hiding in that brush pile, and how much grief I caused my dad by doing so. But I still laugh when my dad tells me that I gave him reason to call the police.